


i've got debts, i'm a debaser

by thefudge



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotionally Repressed, F/M, Lavender is now Professor of Divination at Hogwarts, Post DH, Post-Canon, Snape is still Master of Potions after the war, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Werewolf Lavender Brown
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:42:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24593983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefudge/pseuds/thefudge
Summary: Post-DH. Lavender tries to hold her head high. His intimidating stares were the stuff of legends when she was fifteen, but seven years later she can stare back without flinching. Almost.  Snape/Lavender
Relationships: Lavender Brown/Severus Snape
Comments: 4
Kudos: 40





	i've got debts, i'm a debaser

**Author's Note:**

> lil' something i had cooked up in my drafts. the title is taken from "saturnz barz" by gorillaz (which doesn't really jive with the story, but i love that line and the way it's sung and i think it fits snape). anyway! i'm keeping this as a tentative oneshot, because i am once again struggling with too many open projects at the same time, but!!! my crackshipper heart had to post this.  
> as the tags specify, Lavender has replaced Trelawney as Professor of Divination and Snape is alive and still Master of Potions at Hogwarts.  
> hope you enjoy!

"Well, are you going to rat me out?" 

The dungeons give her words a sinister echo. 

She doesn't have to call him "Sir" anymore. She doesn't have to be polite or quiet. She certainly won't scurry about meekly the way Professor Trelawney used to. She couldn't, even if she tried. The wounds that Fenrir Greyback left her with cannot be easily stitched together. 

Snape eyes her critically, saying nothing for a few moments.

Lavender tries to hold her head high. His intimidating stares were the stuff of legends when she was fifteen, but seven years later she can stare back without flinching. Almost.

The beaker is still steaming in her hand. 

Snape finally speaks. "Come with me."

Lavender was expecting many things, including contemptuous, arrogant barbs, but not this.

"Why - why should I?"

His forehead creases slightly. "Because, Miss Brown, that is a rather imperfect brewing of Wolfsbane Potion which will only damage your health in the long term." 

Lavender frowns. "I brewed it myself. I think I'd know the composition by now -"

"You do, but Wolfsbane Potion is particularly tenacious to get right and you've been consulting the wrong textbooks," he says importantly.

"The wrong textbooks -"

"You have been using Hogwarts-standard Potions books, have you not?"

"So?"

"So, most of those books are...inaccurate. That is why I always gave out _my_ instructions on the blackboard."

Lavender cringes inwardly. Right, it feels just like Fifth Year all over. 

She doesn't want to concede, but she cannot deny that the full moon period has never been much assuaged by the Wolfsbane. 

Snape opens the door to his study and stands aside, motioning for her to enter. 

Lavender hates that he's still got a bit of authority over her.

She suppresses a sigh and walks past him into his private domain. 

"Aconite, as you must surely be aware, is an extremely dangerous plant when not proportioned right," he lectures, as he decants the infusion. "One must get it right."

 _I'm sure you will_ , she thinks sarcastically. 

Lavender looks about. His quarters are stripped of niceties, but still sumptuously brocaded in Slytherin green. It feels so strange, being here in the middle of the night. 

"How did you know?" she asks, though she knows it's probably a losing game to demand answers from him. 

Snape snorts. " _Please_."

Lavender glares. "Does this mean others know?"

"No," he says smoothly, mixing the ingredients. Lavender watches him attentively. "No, you hide it well, but not well enough."

"All right. How long _have_ you known?"

"Since your Seventh Year."

She is mesmerized by his white hands and the elegant way they manipulate the thin vials and so she almost misses the reference.

"Since...but you were Headmaster, then. And you were...well, you were under Voldemort's command."

"Indeed."

"You did not report me."

"Why should I have?" he asks tersely, as if it's no consequence to him.

Lavender knows by now that he was always Dumbledore's man, but it still makes her wonder. Because he _did_ report a werewolf once.

"What about Professor Lupin?" 

There is a small, very small, yet noticeable movement in his shoulders. 

He doesn't say anything for a while.

Lavender thinks he may not be able to summon the words to defend himself, which is only fair. He _should_ still feel guilty about that. 

Snape suddenly looks up at her and his dark eyes bore into hers with an intensity that does not recall the professor, or the spy, but the unknown man behind it all. 

"I will brew it for you every month from now on, as I did for Professor Lupin. As I wish I still could." 

Lavender blinks. Her mouth parts. "Oh." 

She's never had much reason to interact with Snape beyond the various events in the Great Hall where they sit at opposite ends of the table, or during administrative sessions where Headmistress Minerva calls them into her office. Hence, the most personal she's ever gotten with him is, "Hello, Professor Snape."

This is completely new territory. He has just shared something personal with her. An admission of guilt and...regret? 

Lavender brushes a few locks away from her face. She looks down. "Thank you."

"No need to thank me," he says sourly. 

"Still -"

"Who have you assigned to help you during Full Moons?" he interrupts coolly, looking her up and down.

Lavender is suddenly aware of her thin dressing gown peeking underneath her robes. She quickly wraps the garment around her. "No one. I don't want anyone to know."

"That is... unwise," he says, making a visible effort not to add something more insulting.

Lavender prickles. "Why? Are _you_ volunteering?"

Snape's lips twitch. "Perhaps you ought to consider that when you abscond into the Forbidden Forest you are not exactly unseen."

Lavender pales. Her throat closes up.

"You - you _saw_ me?"

"I knew to look," he remarks, turning back to the potion.

Lavender swallows with some difficulty. How long has he been "looking"? Because if he's as vigilant as he says, then there must have been times, many times, when he saw her naked - 

_No._

She shakes her head obstinately, chasing the image away. 

Yet it returns with a vengeance. 

Oh God, she will never be able to live this down. 

She's so caught up in these upsetting thoughts that she startles when he is in front of her again, very close. Snape has a talent for silent attacks. 

"Here," he says, handing her the beaker. "First dose of the week."

Lavender takes it feebly, wishing the earth could swallow her whole. 

Snape watches her down the entire potion, his eyes latched impassively to the lining of her throat. 

"Well done, Miss Brown," he murmurs when she's finished, turning away to collect the vials.

Lavender fishes for her handkerchief to wipe her mouth.

She pauses.

_Well done, Miss Brown._

She feels a soft shiver under her robes. 

"You should have told me sooner," she says, drawing herself up from the chair. 

Snape stands by his personal shelves, replacing his stock, his back to her. "Told you what?"

_That you know about me._

But, instead, what comes out is, "That you watch me." 

His hands drop slightly. He doesn't move.

Lavender can't help picturing the tightly-buttoned, dignified professor skulking through the woods, trying to catch glimpses of her midnight flesh. 

No. No, he wouldn't be skulking.

He'd be taking measured steps. Becoming one with the shadows. Keeping track of her movements. Securing the parameter. 

Making sure - 

Making sure she was all right, she realizes, all too late. 

He appointed himself the role.

Arrogant and self-effacing man. He's often misjudged, but does little to correct the misjudgment. In fact, he encourages it.

She almost smiles. The performance is familiar to her. 

She walks past him. Walks close enough to inhale that strange, heady mixture of restraint and self-loathing that he's woven around him.

"Good night, Severus," she says softly.

She doesn't wait to see what effect his first name will have on him. 

She makes her way out of the dungeons, feeling both lighter and heavier with knowledge. 

Snape looks after her for a long time. 


End file.
